Deep

Deeper,
Sharply curved like brooding palm fronds ;
Her accent brawls high like raucous billows of a raging wind,
Poise so proper
Pain knitted behind the soul of her feet,
Life got her spines propped against the walls of gagged expression.
Her own voice she sniffed  like a dog petrified by its own bark.
She stood on the stage of solitude and rehearsed into the void...
She knelt and wept , bruised herself with  the detritus of the fallen mirror and wailed:
I am woman ; I am not the weakness of manliness.
My face ain't for your fist cuffs  to stab like like the abhorrent flashes of neon lights, nor my belly for your feisty punch,
 but my back ,your fingers to moistly tend,
my spines your arms to lift;
 and my torso your palms should nurse in strides, as a skilled brick man  lays shiny cobble stones .
Tom👻